


In Dreams

by interropunct



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: A Leitner (Kind of) Made Them Do It (The Magnus Archives), Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Aftercare, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Consensual Non-Consent, Dreamsharing, Kink Negotiation Happens Off Screen, M/M, Mutually Dubious Consent, Rape Fantasy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexy Leitner Week (The Magnus Archives), Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Under-negotiated Kink (sorta), Unprotected Sex, Unreliable Narrator, Updating tags to add, Vaginal Peneration, Verbal Humiliation, because I literally forgot that was not everyone's default Jon, internalized kinkshaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:56:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28950021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/interropunct/pseuds/interropunct
Summary: Martin stumbles on a mysterious book that lets him into people’s dreams. He knows he shouldn’t keep reading it, but at least there’s no harm done. Until it leads him into a compromising situation with Jon that he is not prepared for.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 25
Kudos: 124





	1. bad dream? // is there any other kind?

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for Sexy Leitner Week, because damn if they're not one of my fave brands of TMA fics. I wrote this last weekend and planned to finish the epilogue/coda and post it much earlier than this but then my responsibilities exploded all over everything so... better late than never! And I'm going to get the final bit of this (featuring some CNC) up as soon as I can.
> 
> The prompt for this came from the Sexy Leitner Generator, although I went kind of in a different direction:  
> "A sexy Leitner that seems like a tourist guide to London, but lists only uncanny, strange locations, such as flesh artists, brownstones with no ceiling but open sky, and a house that opens into an enormous disco labyrinth."
> 
> Mind the tags and see end notes for full warnings. 
> 
> Words used for Jon's parts: slit, cock, hole, cunt, pussy. Just kinda a smorgasbord here folks.
> 
> Title from "In Dreams" by Ben Howard.

It’s late. Martin is already in his night clothes, teeth brushed and face awkwardly washed in the sink of the tiny shared archives bathroom. When he crosses back towards his little “bedroom” in storage and sees that Jon’s office light is still on, he pauses. He should knock, try one last time to convince Jon to go home, that he won’t get any more work done tonight. But Jon was clearly running out of patience with Martin’s mother-henning, now that he was in the archives 24/7. Last time Martin had popped in this late in the evening Jon had properly snapped at him, the way he hadn’t been doing as much since the Prentiss incident. Martin wasn’t up to it, not today. It meant Jon’s aching back and pinched expression tomorrow morning would be Martin’s fault, but that was fine, he had a lot of things to feel guilty about.

As soon as he sits down on the cot, pulls the cover over his legs, he’s reaching for it. Sitting innocently on the filing box-cum-makeshift bedside table. 

_A Guide To The London of Your Dreams_

He’d picked it up in a charity shop, one of his few weekend excursions from the archives because good lord if he didn’t leave occasionally he was going to _die_. It was old and beaten up, a tourist guide from the 90s at the earliest, by Martin’s completely uneducated guess. It had immediately caught his eye. Old and out of date books were always so fascinating to Martin. The torn edges and cheap yellowing paper, the strange, uncanny inaccuracies. He’d won a world atlas in some silly Year 4 competition once, and had ended up keeping it purely because it still had East Germany marked on it.

There was just something about knowing that you held a record of a version of the world that no longer existed. It was something he missed from working in the library actually. The old, odd, and out of print books in the Magnus Institute libraries were unparalleled.

Anyway, he’d never thought of tourist guides before. They must have an incredibly short shelf-life in a city as quick to change as London.

He had found himself picking up the book without another thought and itching to read it the whole tube ride back to Chelsea.

It was obviously strange, when he’d tried to read it. There weren’t just places that didn’t exist anymore in that book, there were places that downright _couldn’t_ exist. The first entry he read the guide led you through a three story Brownstone where the every floor opened onto the endless empty sky. And it was truly like being led physically though a space. Every time Martin went to read an entry he felt dragged into it, fully transported. Like the best kind of fiction, but also fundamentally not like that at all.

So he knew right away that it was strange, uncanny. But he was so curious, so intensely desirous of that strange place he’d glimpsed, that he couldn’t quite manage to stop himself from reading it again, in fits and starts.

It took almost a week for him to figure out what was happening. But when he walked through an exhibition of some strange sculptor whose medium seemed to be human skin, only to find the backroom transformed into a country meadow populated by school children, he finally realized what was happening.

When he read the book, he was reading a dream.

Since then he’d told himself a dozen times to stop. To call artifact storage, burn it, or just for god’s sake stop reading. But every few days he’d find himself opening it again, even as he hated himself for it.

Martin clenches his hand into a fist, but still he reaches for it, rests his tense knuckles against the battered cover. And then, no longer able to resist, he snatches it up and opens it.

The office is quiet around them. The whole building seems to spread out silently from the epicenter: Jon’s office, Jon’s desk, Jon sitting at it and Martin standing beside him.

Jon’s snapped again. It was something stupid, snide, about how he has better things to be doing than wasting time drinking tea.

But this time, Martin doesn’t flinch slightly, or duck his head and leave the room.

Instead Martin feels something come over him, a burning pressure, like someone’s lit a coal fire in his chest.

“You have better things to be doing?” It’s quiet. Almost sounds polite. But inside Martin is aflame.

“Research, Martin. Into the statement. Or did you have something better in mind than actually doing my job?” Jon doesn’t sense the danger. He pushes because he always pushes, because he doesn’t know any other way. 

“Actually, I think the only thing that mouth is good for at this point is sucking my cock.” Bright, sharp, deadly.

Jon’s eyes jerk up to meet his and it’s mostly disbelief. Martin can see him questioning himself. _That can’t be right. I must have misheard._

“What did you say?”

Martin can feel a hard sneer on his face, an unfamiliar but freeing expression to wear.

Part of him knows this is an overreaction. Isn’t like him.

“I said, Jon, you should use that pretty mouth for something worthwhile for once and suck my cock rather than waste your time as a pathetic excuse for a Head Archivist. Because let’s be honest, you’re shit at research, shit at management, and shit at basically anything you do. But you are good at one thing.”

A pause. Jon, Martin notices, is trembling ever so slightly.

“You’re good at being a hole to fuck.” A delicious certitude to it. 

None of this is something Martin would ever say, would ever thought he;d say, but there it is hanging in the air between them, heavy and solid. 

Jon shoves his chair back, starts to stand. Probably looking to make a break for the door. But to Martin it’s like he’s moving through honey, slow and imminently appetizing. And oh, oh how he wants to taste.

He grabs Jon’s wrist. In a single fluid move, almost practiced, he brings his other hand down on the back of Jon’s neck, where his hair is loosely tied away, grips tightly, and twists Jon’s elbow back behind him, forcing him to bend forward to compensate until Jon’s much smaller body meets heavy and swift with the surface of the desk.

“Now Jon, you’ve pushed me around for these past few months. All while completely failing to do your job. I think you can at least entertain my ideas now. Let’s just give it a test run. I’ll fuck you here, now, over your desk, and we’ll see if you’re better at taking my cock than you are at being Head Archivist. That’s quite reasonable, isn’t it?”

He’s hard. He’s not sure when he got hard, but now it’s aching sharply through him. Martin rubs his clothed cock roughly against Jon, feels the warmth of his ass and thighs even through two pairs of trousers and pants. Jon whimpers.

Martin adjusts slightly. He slips his hand from the back of Jon’s neck into his hair to get a proper grip there and leans forward so Jon is trapped between his chest and the surface of the desk. As he does it, Martin kicks Jon’s legs further apart, fitting himself into the space so Jon’s just on tiptoes, almost all his weight supported by the desk and Martin’s thighs.

With Jon’s twisted arm now caught between their bodies, Martin’s hand is free to go for Jon’s belt.

Jon struggles a bit, trembling all over now, little hitching breaths. Martin yanks his head back roughly, noses at the side of Jon’s throat. A far off part of Martin is marvelling at the softness of Jon’s hair between his fingers. But mostly he is busy with the rough undressing. The belt slides open easily beneath his hand, and the button and zip follow just as cleanly.

Martin’s hand slides inside trousers and pants both, fingers and palm finding wiry curls and below that a warm slit, hooded cock, and wet greedy hole. Martin feels Jon’s breath catch in his throat.

Some distant part of Martin thinks maybe this is news to him, maybe genital configuration was not something he knew about his boss. But in the moment he is completely unsurprised. Jon is meant to be fucked, therefore he naturally would have as many means of being taken as possible.

“It’s a shame we’re the only ones here,” Martin murmurs into Jon’s neck. “We could do a proper test, with the whole office.” He slides two fingers into Jon’s tight heat, feels him tense as his body struggles to accommodate it. He doesn’t wait for him to relax before beginning to pump roughly in and out. “See how many cocks we could fit in you. Tim fucking your ass, Elias in your cunt, while I fucked your throat. Might have to get some people from research involved, see if you can take more than three at a time.” He’s so wet, around Martin’s fingers, and getting wetter by the second. He fucks him rougher, three fingers now. “Or just leave you out, tied up, properly on display and ready to be fucked by anyone who felt like it. For who knows how long, days, more maybe, until your pussy was fucked too loose to use and you were filthy, covered in come, but finally, _finally_ doing a decent job at something.”

Finally, Jon moans, ragged and loud.

“That’s right, don’t try to be coy. If you want to be a good office fuck-toy, it’s best if you love your job. And you do, don’t you Jon?” Another moan from him, strained as Martin pushes the heel of his hand up against his cock and his whole body tightens under Martin. “You’re dripping right now, just from my fingers. Bet you’ll be screaming once my cock’s in you. You stupid little slut, all this time you’ve just been acting out, waiting for someone to take you in hand and show you what you’re really good for.”

Martin feels wetness at his temple, from where Jon is starting to sob in between his moans. He aches to do- something... something out of reach, even as he gives a couple more vicious thrusts of his fingers. He grinds his palm messy against Jon’s cock, rocks forward so his own poor neglected cock rides the curve of Jon’s ass.

“Come on, Jon. Come for me like a good little slut.”

And he does, crying out and spasming around Martin’s fingers, shuddering as Martin fucks him through the aftershocks.

Before Martin can do anything more, the scene melts around him, like waking from a dream.

Martin lies in bed for a while, absolutely still. The book rests open on his stomach and he grips it tightly. If he so much as shifts an inch, the blankets are going to rub against his erection and he’s going to come. And then the weight in Martin’s stomach might actually resolve itself and he will most likely throw up.

He can’t believe that he dreamed of doing _that_.

He didn’t- he _wouldn’t_. He would _never_ touch Jon, or anyone else for that matter, without their consent.

But the memory lingers in his mind, one of those few dreams so vivid that they do not immediately fade upon waking. And it’s not altogether unpleasant…

No, no, he can’t mean that. That was a nightmare. He feels sick and he’s shaking a bit and that was obviously, obviously some kind of terrible dream. And everyone knows you can’t control what you dream about, right? Even in the moment it hadn’t felt like it was Martin doing those things. It had been like he was following a script, down to every word and movement and thought, just doing as he was told.

Oh god, is he making excuses? “I’m sorry, babe, I couldn’t help myself. You’re just so hot.” No, no, that’s not him. He had hurt Jon, just in a dream, but he’d done it and he had- fuck, fuck, he’d _enjoyed_ it.

Maybe it was the book. He’d thought it was harmless. Something he should have gotten rid of the moment he realized it was not an ordinary book, definitely. But it hadn’t seemed to be actively malicious. But maybe it was actually doing something to him, warping something in his brain, like the worms had done to Prentiss. Oh god that was a terrifying thought on multiple levels.

He’d never had a dream like this through the book before. In the others he had just been a passive observer. This time he was in it. It was his dream.

And was that really so impossible? That it wasn’t the book, it was just Martin. Martin who was already warped?

His mother had always said his father had anger issues. And Martin, he couldn’t really deny it could he? That sometimes when Jon says something rude, Martin’s first instinct is to bite back with something just as rude. That sometimes he wants to needle Jon, wants to rile him up on purpose because it makes him _mad_ when Jon treats him so much worse than the others. Is it so impossible that that would manifest as a dreamed revenge scenario, even one as horrible as this?

Fuck, he couldn’t think about this anymore. His heart felt like it was going to explode. He had to do something, get up-- _maybe go offer himself to the fucking worms?_ his brain supplied--go for a _walk_. 

His erection had faded, although there was still a warm tight feeling under his skin, like his strong and utterly damning arousal was hiding just beneath the surface.

He viciously pulled his work clothes back on. He would go splash his face with cold water, then maybe he’d grab one of the fire extinguishers and go for a brisk walk. It had to be late by now. No one would bat an eye at some weirdo walking around holding a fire extinguisher. It would be fine.

He’s halfway to the bathroom when the light in Jon’s office catches his eye. Again, in some misplaced echo of earlier in the night, the sight brings Martin up short.

He is frozen, a jumble of guilt and concern and longing sitting heavy in his throat. Jon has, without a doubt now, fallen asleep at his desk. He is probably bent over, giving himself a terrible back ache come morning, pen still gripped loosely in one hand, and face almost peaceful. So different from the terror that Martin had seen in the dream.

Maybe he would just… look. Poke his head in the door, see that Jon was safe and well. Which was silly, of course he was, it was a dream not some kind of vision. But it would be nice just for Martin to see for himself. He’d just peek in, cover Jon with the blanket from his lower desk drawer and turn off the light on his way out. No harm in that.

He walks over to Jon’s office door. Puts one hand on the doorknob and allows himself to relax just a fraction at the sight that is about to greet him, even as his heart beats faster in his chest.

He opens the door and Jon’s head snaps around to look at him. Definitely not asleep. In fact it looks like he’s in the middle of changing clothes. Not indecent, thank fucking god for that, but he’s got different trousers on and is holding a new jumper in his hands as if he was about to pull it on.

By the time Martin registers this he expects to hear Jon already mid-rebuke. ‘Good lord, Martin, not even an attempt at a knock. I could have been recording a statement. Do you have no sense of basic workplace decorum?’

Instead, Jon is just frozen, staring, face so flushed the fluorescents reveal it even with Jon’s dark skin tone.

Martin’s first thought is that he might be ill. Jon has absolutely stayed at work with a fever before and Martin, Tim, and Sasha had to basically reinvent collective bargaining just to get him to go home and rest.

“Are you alright? Or, er, sorry I barged in! I- I thought you’d fallen asleep at your desk. I was just going to- to come in and turn off the light, is all. But you’re not, asleep that is. Clearly, you know that. It’s just you look a little flushed and I thought maybe you were ill. If you’re not feeling-”

Jon finally, thankfully, cut him off.

“I’m- I’m fine, Martin. Fine. I did actually. Fall asleep at my desk. Only woke up a few minutes ago. That’s probably why I look, uh, flushed. I appreciate the concern but truly, I’m fine. Nothing to worry about. Just a- a vivid dream.”

Martin almost couldn’t hear over the rushing in his ears and the overwhelming wave of dread that came over him.

“Oh god- Jon, I-” He couldn’t continue. How could he possibly say the words?

Jon’s eyes flash up to Martin’s, concerned at first and then widening in realization as if the hideous truth had simply been written across Martin’s face.

“I’m so sorry,” Martin managed to say, through leaden lips.

The jumper falls, forgotten, from Jon’s limp grasp, as he takes a step to the side and sinks unerringly into his chair. He looks shocked, expression slightly blank, not yet disgusted. Maybe it’s still sinking in.

“Oh.”

They share the resounding silence for a moment.

“How did you- How?” Jon asks, still sounding more dazed than anything else.

“It was- I found a book in a charity shop a week or so back. It’s- god I didn’t think it worked like this. It seemed harmless! I wouldn’t have kept using it if I thought it would do something like this. I’m so- I can’t even- I’m sorry Jon. I know that’s not enough, but-”

Jon cuts him off again with a shake of his head.

“No, I’m sorry Martin.”

It is his turn to feel absolutely bowled over.

“Wha-”

“I have failed you on multiple levels. My, well- Thoughts, that is, of a highly inappropriate nature, have upset you. You were never supposed to know or have to witness any of this. But because of this Leitner, I assume it must be a Leitner, you were. And even that is my failing. I have not, as your supervisor, properly impressed upon you the very real and very formidable chaos that these books can unleash. I know it won’t be a comfort given what you were… privy to, but the consequences could have been much much worse. I- Martin, what is it?”

Martin’s turmoil must have sufficiently shown on his face, for Jon to have noticed.

“Jon, how could it possibly be worse than- than me _raping you?_ ”

“Yes, I understand that you’re upset, which is completely reasonable. Again, I apologize. I’m just relieved-”

“Jon, why are you apologizing for me raping you?” He doesn’t know if he wants to cry or tear his own hair out. This is insane, this whole conversation is insane. Did the book, this “Leitner” put him in some kind of parallel universe?

“What? Come now, Martin, I don’t see the point of these dramatics,” Jon said, a bit of annoyance edging into his tone for the first time in this conversation. “No one raped anyone. It was a dream, based on a very common and normal fantasy that many people have. Of course it’s reasonable to apologize for the deeply unfortunate fact that this Leitner placed you into the- uh, starring role, but I’ll also point out that your repeated engagement with an artifact that you clearly knew was supernatural complicates this matter further.”

“A fant- Jon, what are you talking about?”

Jon is clearly trying to decide if he’s annoyed right now.

“You have been interacting with a Leitner that allows you to access dreams, correct?”

Martin nods as understanding slowly begins to dawn on a distant horizon.

“Tonight, when I fell asleep at my desk, I had my- that is, _a_ common dream based on a rape fantasy. You witnessed this fantasy unfold and became distressed. Then you came here and alerted me to what is, if we’re being clear, really a mutual breach of basic privacy and propriety. Now, have I missed anything?”

Martin realizes that he has probably tried to process too much in too short a period of time. He realizes this because he finds himself sinking smoothly, but without his conscious permission, into a seated and then horizontal position. Jon makes a sound but Martin can’t make it out and from this angle the desk means he can no longer see Jon’s face.

“Yeah, that’s- that about covers it.”

“Why? What did you think we were talking about?” There is something comforting about Jon’s sharp tone. Something that makes Martin feel refreshingly normal, and maybe a little bit annoyed. Martin no longer has the defenses in place to suppress this reaction.

“I don’t know, Jon! Maybe I thought that I enjoyed it! Maybe I thought that dream or no dream I had done that to you and I thought maybe the book had broken something in me, for me to be capable of that. And maybe I was expecting you to be disgusted, to hate me, and to _definitely_ fire me--which I suppose you still might do--but instead I came in here and you started apologizing to me. And now I just don’t know what to feel at all.”

“Ah, I see.”

Another silence, not at all similar to the first.

Then rustling, footsteps. At some point Martin closed his eyes, but he feels the air move beside him and then a warm nudge. He looks over. Jon is sitting cross legged on the floor by Martin’s shoulder, watching him.

“There’s nothing wrong with having fantasies, in dreams or while awake. Even when they scare you. Not everything that’s scary is automatically evil.”

“Maybe,” Martin allows.

“I understand that it may feel different for you. Being the mm, passive actor in a fantasy such as this is generally seen as a modicum more palatable than the fantasizing about being the aggressor.”

He’s closed his eyes again. They’re burning slightly behind his eyelids.

“But to my mind the distinction is moot. The human mind, nevermind the human libido, is far too complex to assign moral value to thoughts or desires. Actions, actual measurable decisions and outcomes, made with full understanding of the consequences, that’s the only thing I think we can rightfully judge one another on.”

“But we judge ourselves on a lot more,” Martin says, hating how his voice sounds in that moment.

“True. The curse of self awareness. We don’t know what is happening behind anyone else’s eyes, we only see what they choose to do or express. So we assume that they must not have the same flawed thoughts, uncomfortable cravings, internal conflicts, that we know ourselves to have.”

Martin nods, but can’t find the right thing to say.

“You know, I don’t think actual rapists are overly burdened with self awareness or self recriminations.”

Martin wasn’t moving before but now he tries to stop his very atoms from vibrating in whatever normal way they do.

“I can’t be sure. I haven’t done any study of them as a group. But it’s my impression that care and concern for one’s partner and one’s own ethical conduct, is rather at odds with the practice of violating consent, in sexual contexts and otherwise.”

His atoms continue to do as they’ve always done. He breathes without conscious command.

“This is all a bit of a goddamn mess, isn’t it?” He still sounds strange to his own ears, but not in a wholly bad way anymore.

“It is rather, yes,” Jon says. “I’m not planning on firing you, if that eases your mind any. Assuming you don’t want to quit-” Martin is already shaking his head, eyes still closed but this much certain. “Well then we will continue on, having both learned an awful lot about each other.” And then, droll, “We’ve also learned not to go playing with Leitners.”

Martin barks out a laugh.

“You’ll have to explain that name to me sometime. In the library we only ever dealt with the non-reality defying books. I seem to have missed out some key bits of relevant information that way.”

“Yes,” Jon says, subdued. “I’ll catch you up sometime soon.”

Martin feels drained, as if cycling through so many emotions had left him empty of everything, both good and bad. It’s relaxing in a way.

“Martin?” A new note in Jon’s voice makes Martin open his eyes, finally. “May I kiss you?” he says, face nervous but determined.

There’s a spark, like an engine trying to start, but the gas tank is empty.

“Later?” he says. “I’d like to do a lot of stuff with you, later.”

Jon smiles, small but genuine and it seems there are a few emotions left in Martin’s chest.

“I would like that very much.”


	2. ‘how are your dreams? I know they used to be… complicated’

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon, Martin, and a compromise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness of this! But thank you to my lovely beta (@idigtheburied) for help with this and the previous part <3
> 
> I'm now considering potentially one more part to this fic but I'm not quite sure how it would work yet.
> 
> Also general note this is set in season 2 and had some vague mentions of season 2-typical Jon paranoia. For more detailed warnings see the end notes.
> 
> Words used for Jon's genitals: cock, hole, cunt

Jon lay perfectly still, listening to the hammering of his own heart, He took a deep shivering breath.

Then the door opened and he jerked at the sound, as if waking from a dream.

Immediately the bindings pulled tight, not even letting him move enough to really yank against them.

“Oh you’re awake, sweetheart, that’s good.”

“M- Martin?”

“Yes, Jon.”

“Where am I?”

“You’re safe. No need to worry beyond that.”

“Why-” Jon’s breath caught, already feeling overwhelmed at how he couldn’t track Martin’s movements with the blindfold on. “Why am I tied up?”

The bed dipped by one of Jon’s forcibly splayed knees. Without further warning Martin’s hand stroked gently down the expanse of bare skin along Jon’s side. Jon felt goosebumps prickle, not just there but everywhere, an overwhelming tingle of awareness.

“Well, I decided I needed to take matters into my own hands.”

“Martin- M- what are you going to do to me?.”

“Nothing but what’s best for you, Jon. You’ve been working too hard. Pushing yourself, not sleeping, getting too wrapped up in all this mess about Gertrude’s death.” They’d discussed it before but the mention of the murder still caused everything in Jon to tense unpleasantly for a second. “There, see, you’re doing it right now. You can’t keep going like this. So I’m just… going to be taking care of you from now on.”

“What does that mean?” Voice not quite demanding, wavering too much.

“Well, mostly I’m going to fuck you, dear.”

“N-n- Martin, you can’t-”

“Now, don’t be like that. I’ll feed you, obviously. _Actual food_ , more than just tea and energy drinks like you seem to be living off most of the time. And I’ll change the restraints so you don’t get too sore being in one position too long. I’ll escort you to the restroom when you need it. Can’t have you making a mess of yourself, can we?” Jon shivered again and Martin patted his hip firmly. “But mostly I’ll be giving you what you need. Fucking your cunt. Filling you with my come. Getting you off, of course, I’m a gentleman.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Jon whispered, just loud enough to be heard.

“Jon,” Martin said pityingly, moving his hand to cup Jon’s cheek. “You can pretend at work. You can pretend with your clothes on, in front of the others. But here I can see all of you, darling. I can see how fucking wet you are. It’s written all over you, how much you want it, how much you need a cock in you.”

“No-”

In an instant Martin’s hand moved from his cheek to where Jon was spread open and undeniably dripping. Martin covered him from the top of his slit to his asshole and squeezed just a bit, firm and just a hint punishing.

Jon cried out, humiliation burning in his cheeks.

“Don’t lie to me. We’ll see the truth soon enough. You’ll come around me just like the good little cockslut you’re meant to be. Is that the problem? Do you want to get started already? I supposed I have been dawdling a bit, haven’t I…”

Another harsh palming of his vulnerable cunt. This time Jon just whimpered.

As soon as Martin moved away, Jon began struggling. He knew Martin was still there, heard him cluck disapprovingly, but he didn’t come back over to the bed. Instead there was the rustle of clothing being removed, which Jon barely heard over his own panting breaths.

There wasn’t anywhere to go. The restraints held him perfectly, caught and pinned like a butterfly about to be mounted to a board. The knowledge of his complete helplessness had him drawing in a sharp sob.

“Jon?” Martin’s voice was subtly different. Jon weakly paused thrashing long enough to hold up three fingers on one cuffed hand. When Martin made an acknowledging sort of noise, Jon began to beg.

“Please, please Martin. Just let me go. I promise I’ll be good. I’ll eat better. I’ll sleep. I’ll- I’ll let go of all this stuff with Gertrude’s murder. Please, just- don’t.”

“Don’t what, dear?” He sounded closer again. Jon hadn’t been paying attention to the sounds, was he naked already?

“Don’t rape me.” Barely a whisper. Another wave of goosebumps, and his body clenched on nothing.

Martin’s exhalation was harsh, loud in the small space.

Then the bed dipped again as Martin kneeled between Jon’s legs.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.” Martin murmured, as he leaned down, so the last words were pressed into the skin of Jon’s neck.

Martin loomed over him, surrounding him. Then he pressed even closer. Searing heat of his erection against Jon. Bruising grip on his thigh. Mouth open and blunt teeth digging into the curve of Jon’s shoulder.

Jon couldn’t help it. He bucked up at the pressure that was not quite pain. The bindings caught him again. 

Martin slowly bit down, gripped tighter, pressed closer.

He cried out, Definitely pain this time. But even to his own ears he sounded more rapturous than afraid. Martin hummed. Laved his tongue over the trapped skin. Slid his hand to touch Jon again where he was wet and open.

Jon tossed his head weakly, but didn’t even try to struggle under Martin’s grip.

Martin pulled back, and Jon wished for a second that he could see him. But there was just the blindfold, the darkness behind his eyes, and Martin’s breath hitting his skin.

“There we go dear, this is what you need, isn’t it?”

Another vague head shake.

“Mm?” Martin made an enquiring noise and then pressed one blunt finger into Jon and he was undone. A quavering moan escaped. “That’s what I thought,” a pleased smile obvious in his voice.

A few thrusts, easy through Jon’s slick. Then a second finger. Quick enough that the stretch punched a gasp out of Jon.

“Like you were made for this, darling. You can say no all you want, but this is the truth,” a pointed curl of his fingers and Jon’s whole body sang like a plucked string. “You belong under me. No purpose but to please me. No responsibilities, no worries, the only thing you have to do is be a hole for me to fuck. And what a good hole you’ve got.”

Jon could barely hear the little punched out noises he was making with each thrust of Martin’s fingers, each sharp press of his palm against Jon’s throbbing cock. But the wet noises of his cunt were somehow plenty loud.

Another bite, this one to the exposed underside of his bicep where his arms stretched up to meet the cuffs. 

It was so much. Pain and pleasure wound so tight already in Jon’s gut that it only took a moment more for his orgasm to crash over him.

At the last second Martin’s free hand came down over Jon’s mouth, muffling most of the mindless shout Jon let out.

Martin didn’t slow in the slightest, if anything he pushed just a bit rougher into Jon as he shook through the aftershocks.

“There’s my good boy. My good little slut, coming screaming just like I knew you would and I haven’t even got my cock in you yet.”

Martin’s hand pulled away to let Jon pant unimpeded.

“You’re perfect, Jon. Just like this.” Martin’s voice was gravelly and sincere and Jon felt a few tears leak out to soak into the cloth of the blindfold.

“‘M going to fuck you now, sweetheart.”

Jon just breathed raggedly. Not even capable of protesting. Martin made a wordless approving noise, kissed him once briefly on his slack lips, then pulled back enough to line up his cock with Jon’s entrance.

Jon was limp now, no fight left in him. But the inexorable push of Martin into him still had him clenching down on instinct, stretched wide, whimpering.

Martin moaned, murmured something too soft and garbled for Jon to make out. Then, a pause, where they both caught their breath and Martin adjusted his grip, made sure his weight was distributed right.

And then he began to fuck Jon. Steady, deep, fast enough to make something coil in Jon’s stomach. There’s nothing Jon could do. He was held, pinned, nothing to do but take it. It was an immense feeling, the pleasure and the helplessness. To be cradled and used and treasured.

He found his senses narrowing to just Martin, his all-encompassing presence. His little sounds and occasionally his teeth scraping against the hyper sensitive skin of Jon’s neck. His cock inside Jon and his fingers, covered in Jon’s come, rubbing tight circles over the hood of Jon’s cock.

Dimly Jon was aware of another orgasm building in him and more overwhelmed tears springing in his eyes. But mostly it was just Martin. Everything was Martin.

When he came again, the feeling itself was secondary to the way it made Martin groan. His thrusts turned deeper, quicker, rhythm thrown off.

“Please, Martin,” he begged again.

And Martin’s hips stuttered, cock jerked, as he came inside Jon.

Jon enjoyed Martin’s comforting bulk blanketing him for a few too-short moments before Martin regained himself enough to pull back and, gently, out of Jon.

The leather thigh, ankle, and wrist cuffs were all the best easy-release kind that Martin could find, so they were off swiftly and the blindfold followed.

Jon blinked slowly, still feeling a bit hazy with the ebbing endorphin rush. Martin’s face finally came into focus and Jon smiled instinctively.

“Hello, love.”

He registered that Martin looked relieved.

“Are you okay? We’ve got the blankets, the water should still be cold, granola bars but really if you want something more substantial, I can go make it. Anything you need, I-”

Jon opened his arms, moving to one side.

“I need you, here, yesterday,” he said, motioning Martin forward.

Instantly he collapsed against Jon, pulled himself close, just barely remembering to grab one of the blankets from the far side of the bed. Jon pulled it from his grip and tucked it in around them as best he could without dislodging Martin. It was strange how such a large man could feel so small in the circle of Jon’s arms, the crown of his head tucked under Jon’s chin.

It was like that that both of their breaths finally slowed all the way down, almost meeting although not quite synched.

Jon was running a hand absently through Martin’s hair, content to drift off to sleep like this, when Martin spoke.

“Was that- was that okay?” He sounded hesitant, as though he wasn’t quite sure if he was supposed to ask.

“Beyond okay. Incredible,” Jon said, full to the brim with good feeling.

“I know it wasn’t quite how you wanted it to go.”

“We discussed that you didn’t feel comfortable with more harsh humiliation, I was _definitely_ satisfied with this compromise.”

Martin’s shoulders relaxed further, tension Jon hadn’t registered that he was carrying still.

With his hand in Martin’s hair, he gently pulled him back enough to read his expression. It was a complicated one. Jon couldn’t quite decode all of it. But there certainly seemed to be some bad emotions in the mix, to Jon’s expert eye. His heart jumped. 

“Did- did you have a good time?”

Martin nodded, gaze wandering over Jon’s face. It seemed sincere but there was also guilt in the motion.

“Martin, you were perfect. I had a lovely time. You gave me incredible orgasms and fulfilled a long-standing fantasy of mine.” Martin noded minutely. “You are also allowed to have enjoyed yourself. It doesn’t reflect poorly on you as a person or a lover. If you don’t want to do it again, that’s-”

“I do. I do want to do it again.” He bit his lip. Jon could feel the fondness in his own expression. “Maybe not all the time. But- yeah, sometimes. I- I liked it.”

“You are remarkable, love. I count myself lucky to know you.”

“Oh stop, stop,” Martin was blushing now, but finally seemed to be fully relaxed. “You’re just getting sappy because I fucked you into the mattress, it doesn’t count.”

“Martin Blackwood, how dare you doubt me. Get me a tape recorder. Get me a megaphone. I will break noise ordinances declaring the depth of my affections.”

“Break noise ordinances again, more like.” He was smirking.

Jon, delighted and only a bit embarrassed, protested. “I was _not_ that loud. It certainly, if we’re being accurate here, did not qualify as ‘screaming.’”

“Oh we’re critiquing my dirty talk now? What happened to outlandish declarations of devotion? Fickle, fickle man.” With that last, he snuck a hand up to the spot high on Jon’s ribs which was eternally ticklish.

The argument devolved from there into cackling and tickling retaliation and it was a while before they slept.

When they did, their dreams were soft-edged and fulfilling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional Warnings:  
> -Vague reference to season 2 era paranoia (but now with different, more fun coping mechanisms!)  
> -Kidnapping role play  
> -Soft cnc of the “doing it for your own good, this is what you want/need” variety  
> -Crying during sex
> 
> I kind of want to do something with Martin actually confronting his internalized kinkshaming. But any more in this fic would require me to think about *shudders* _timelines_ so I might not.

**Author's Note:**

> The warnings here are a little hard to explain without just like narrating the fic again, but this is my attempt. If I've forgotten anything please don't hesitate to let me know!
> 
> Warnings:  
> -Periods of ambiguous agency when dealing with a Leitner, specifically:  
> \--it it unclear if Martin is being compelled to keep reading or simply chooses to  
> \--and there is a scene where Martin is compelled (through dream/Lietner weirdness) to act out a rape fantasy without his consent  
> -Viewing of people’s dreams/sexual fantasies without their consent  
> -Included in that fantasy is verbal humiliation and mention of free use scenario/gangbang


End file.
